


Braeden, The Girl

by courtneythenerd



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Original Character Death(s), Street Harassment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2018-02-09 15:17:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1987746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/courtneythenerd/pseuds/courtneythenerd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Braeden is six years old the first time she sees a gun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Braeden, The Girl

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: All rights belong to the writers and producers of "Teen Wolf." 
> 
> This is not a Peter Hale friendly fic, FYI.

Braeden is six years old the first time she sees a gun.

 

She’s with her mommy and daddy and they’re in a store. A man tries to rob the store’s owner and her daddy, who’s a police man, takes the man down and saves the day. Everyone cheers and although Braeden’s little face glows with pride, her mind is troubled by the black thing the man was holding. Her daddy has one, too, and it shoots fire and smoke.

 

When they get home, her parents sit her down and gently explain.

 

“It’s a gun,” her daddy says in his deep voice. His voice is usually a deep lullaby for her, but tonight it sounds off. “I use them on my job. They are very dangerous.”

 

The look on her daddy’s face causes a strange feeling in the middle of Braeden’s stomach and she frowns. She thinks that maybe her daddy isn’t telling her something. His eyes look different than usual and Braeden sees it, but she can’t say what it is.

 

“Do you understand, sweetie?” he asks and Braeden nods and gives him a hug.

 

After he tucks her in and wishes her goodnight, Braeden lies awake and thinks about the look in his eyes.

 

**

Braeden is eight years old when she reads the book her mother keeps hidden from the customers.

 

Braeden’s mother owns a bookstore and Braeden’s old enough to realize that people mostly come to the bookstore to see Braeden’s mother. They like the music she plays, the smile on her face, and the smell of the olive oil in her big, fluffy afro. Braeden sits behind the counter and watches her mother move in time with the music, smile brightly at customers, and sell books.

 

One day, Braeden’s leg brushes up against an old, brown leather book. Braeden frowns and picks up it, finding it heavy. Her mother’s dress sways against her legs as she goes to help a customer that’s all the way across the store. Braeden watches her mother go and then opens the book. She tilts her head when she sees the pages; it’s full of monsters, and witches, and the things she and her classmates dressed up as for Halloween. The drawings look so real and there are words that Braeden can’t read in it. She knows she should put it back, but she instead reads more of the English words about a picture of what she thinks is a witch. The drawing looks a little like her.

 

When the shop is closed and it’s just Braeden and her mommy, she works up the bravery to ask.

 

“Mommy, what’s that book behind the counter?”

 

Her mother’s face drops and her chest jumps up a little. She sits still in a way that Braeden’s never seen and Braeden wonders if she should’ve asked at all.  

 

“What book?” she asks and her voice sounds tight and scared.

 

“The . . . the big brown one,” Braeden stammers and blinks. She’s in trouble, she must be. Why else would Mommy look so serious all of a sudden?

 

Her mother gets up and goes behind the counter. She comes back with the heavy brown book. She places the book on the table and then puts one of her hands over Braeden’s.

 

“This book,” her mother says, all laughter gone from her voice, “is called a bestiary.”

 

_Bes-ti-ary_. The word sounds familiar to Braeden, but she doesn’t know why.  Braeden looks at the book and then slowly moves her eyes to look into her mother’s. They’re serious in a way Braeden doesn’t like.

 

“It’s full of monsters,” Braeden says softly.

 

Her mother nods and then squeezes Braeden's hand tightly.

 

“Braeden, there are some things that you don’t know about, things that your father and I weren’t quite ready to tell you about just yet,” her mother sounds almost like she doesn’t want to make Braeden mad or hurt her feelings.

 

Something clicks inside of Braeden’s head and she feels suddenly breathless and amazed and scared.

 

“Mommy, are all these monsters real?” Braeden asks, making her voice as strong and grown up as she can.

 

Her mother gives her a small smile. Then she stands up and puts the bestiary in her bag.

 

“We’re going to go home, and we’re going to talk with your father,” her mother announces.

 

When they walk out of the bookstore, Braeden feels older somehow.

 

**

 

Braeden is eight years old when she learns that her parents are liars.

 

Because they just aren’t a bookstore owner and a police man. They’re other things too.

 

“We do what we have to,” her daddy says again, for the third time that night. His voice shakes and his big hands tremble in Braeden’s small ones. “We have to protect you and everyone else.”

 

Braeden blinks and nods her head. She doesn’t understand, really, but she feels like her parents need her to.

 

Because, as it turns out, her parents have other jobs, too. They are other things. Her mommy is a witch and her daddy is a hunter. Braeden knew that a lot of the people that come to the store don’t come to buy books; she now knows that they come so that her mother can cast spells for them. To help them or heal them or whatever they need her to do for them.

 

A lot of the people that call her daddy to their houses don’t need a police man. They need him to get rid of a monster.

 

“We were going to tell you when you were much older,” her mommy says sadly.

 

“We didn’t want you to be too involved with this. It’s dangerous and scary,” her daddy keeps going.

 

Braeden nods, and she actually understands this time. Nothing is scarier than some of the pictures in the book. Braeden looks at her parents and they look different than they usually do. It’s their eyes.

 

“Do you guys get scared?” she asks.

 

Her parents look at each other and neither of them say anything for a long time. Then they both nod. They still don’t say anything; they just nod.

 

Braeden decides that maybe these other jobs aren’t something she should talk about.

 

**

 

Braeden is ten the first time she kills something that’s trying to kill her.

 

A wendigo breaks into her house, going after her father. Unfortunately, her bedroom is on the first floor of the house. The wendigo destroys her room and chases her into the kitchen. Braeden grabs a knife from the kitchen and sticks into the wendigo’s chest as hard she can. It falls to the ground, dead.

 

Braeden’s so busy staring at the bloody body that she doesn’t see her teary eyed father, standing at the bottom of the stairs with his gun.

 

“Braeden . . . are you okay?” He asks so slowly.

 

She barely hears him, though, because she’s still looking at the body. Braeden feels lightheaded and dizzy. And the whole room is spinning.

 

Her father walks over to her and pulls her into a tight hug.

 

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice quivering. “It’s okay.”

 

Her father rubs her hair and that’s when Braeden realizes that she’s been shaking and crying.

 

“It’s okay,” her father keeps saying. “It’s okay.”

 

At some point, her mother joins and holds onto both of them.

 

And although her father keeps saying that it’s okay, Braeden knows that it’s not.

 

**

 

Braeden is fifteen when she asks her father to teach her to be a hunter.

 

“No,” he says too quickly, and Braeden swallows back her anger.

 

“I need to learn,” Braeden says firmly. “That’s what I’m going to end up doing. I’ve already decided.”

 

Her father looks up wearily from the paper he had been pretending to read and stares at Braeden. Braeden hates the look in his eyes.

 

“It’s not like I haven’t already killed anything,” Braeden adds quietly, clenching her fist.

 

Her father looks at what used to be his little girl for a long time, and then he blinks slowly and sighs.

 

“Why couldn’t you ask your mother to teach you witchcraft?” He asks wearily. But then he stands up and levels his daughter with a serious look. “Are you sure about this?”

 

Braeden looks at the gun on her father’s hip; it’s the same one he’s had since she was little. She shifts her gaze back to his eyes. He’s getting older now; both of her parents are. The things that are out there—the things that can and _will_ kill them—aren’t.

 

Braeden takes a deep breath and nods.

 

“Absolutely.”

 

**

 

Braeden is also fifteen when she leaves her first marks on a person.

 

Braeden is walking home and she _really_ isn’t in a good mood. Training and school sucked today and she felt off balance and weird. So of course some guy decides to bother her.

 

“Aye ma, how you feeling?” a random guy yells at her.

 

Braeden takes a glance at the dude and grimaces; he’s _at least_ 25.

 

“I’m feeling like I’m underage,” she grumbles as she speed walks away. Braeden feels footsteps behind her and, sure enough, the guy is following her.

 

“Don’t be rude, I’m just trying to talk,” he says. He speeds up so that he’s nearly walking on her heels.

 

“Please leave me alone, _sir_ ,” Braeden growls, trying to conceal the nervousness in her voice. She just _really needs_ to get home now.

 

“Hey, come on!” The man actually grabs her arm and _spins_ her around to face him.

 

“Get away!” Braeden screams and before she can think, she’s grabbing the guy’s outstretched arm.

 

Instantly, bruises begin to appear. They both look down, baffled, before he snatches his arm back. As they stare, the words “GO AWAY, CREEP” appear on the man’s arm.

 

“What the fuck?!” the guy screams, staring at his arm in horror.

 

Braeden, terrified and confused, panics and runs the rest of the way home.

 

Braeden stumbles through her front door, sweaty, panting, and wildly bewildered. Her mother, who had been sitting on the couch, looks up pleasantly. Her pleasant expression quickly changes to one of vengeance when she sees the look on Braeden’s face.

 

“What happened?” her mother asks darkly, looking as though she’s already planning the murder of whoever disturbed her daughter.

 

Braeden stammers out the explanation, gesticulating wildly when she gets to the part about the bruises. As she speaks, her mother’s eyebrows raise and her eyes widen. When Braeden is done, her mother smirks proudly and beckons her over. She pulls Braeden into a long, comforting hug and smiles broadly.

 

“You’re gifts are arriving,” she says in awe.

 

Braeden wants to ask just what “gifts” are going to arrive, but for now, she doesn’t. For now, she leans further into her mother’s touch, and sighs with relief.

 

**

 

Braeden is sixteen when her father is shot in the chest by another hunter.

 

The bastard shoots him outside of their home and then runs away. By the time Braeden and her mother are by her father’s side, the hunter is long gone.

 

“Frank,” her mother whispers in a broken voice, but Braeden doesn’t really hear her. She just hears her father’s last heartbeats slamming against her eardrums.

 

Her father looks up at her with dimming eyes. Braeden grabs her father’s bloody hand and holds on.

 

Faintly, he smiles.

 

“It’s alright,” he says. He squeezes her hand one last time, and then he starts to fade. “It’s alright . . .”

 

No, it’s not.

 

Braeden doesn’t realize that she’s screaming until neighbors begin to pour out of their homes. A couple of them rush to her and her mother. Some dawdle forward and start to cry. But most just stand around at gawk at the dead man, the sobbing woman, and the screaming girl.

 

**

 

When Braeden is eighteen and moving out of San Francisco, she begs her mother to come with her.

 

“I can’t leave you here,” Braeden pleads.

 

But her mother shakes her head and grabs her daughter’s hands tightly.

 

“I’ll be fine. It’s time for you to go,” she tells Braeden, even while Braeden shakes her head and starts to cry.

 

Her mother pulls her into a tight hug and Braeden unashamedly cries against her mother’s shoulder. While they hug, her mother uses her fingers and traces a cross on Braeden’s back.

 

“ _Protego_ ,” her mother murmurs as they hug.

 

Braeden takes breath and squeezes her mother even more tightly.

 

For protection,” her mother says solemnly, when they break apart. Then she starts to help Braeden load her things into her car.

 

**

 

Three years later, when Braeden is 21, it’s her mother’s protection that saves her life when Deucalion damn near rips her throat out.

 

Braeden is on her knees behind a fucking high school, gripping her neck, and sobbing. Blood is running down her hands and Braeden starts to choke.

 

“ _Pro-protego_ ,” she stammers and she pictures her mother’s face, even when black spots appear before her eyes.

 

Eventually, the bleeding stops, but her sobbing doesn’t.

 

Braeden wants a lot of things right now. She wants to have never met Marin Morrell or this fucking pack of Alpha werewolves. She wants to not be blood-soaked and kneeling. She wants to not have ever become a mercenary instead of a hunter or to have even left home in the first place.

 

Most of all, she wants her mother. And her father.

 

**

 

When Braeden officially meets Scott McCall and his pack, she rolls her eyes and snorts to mask the fact that she actually feels pretty sorry for these kids. Because that’s just it: they’re _kids_. As much as Braeden would like to not feel anything at all towards them, she can’t help it. She’s looking a bunch of seventeen year olds who have lost parents, first loves, best friends, and their whole lives to this supernatural bullshit.

 

Braeden looks at enduringly earnest, bighearted Scott; sarcastic, insecure Stiles; blunt and permanently confused Malia; awkward, unsure Kira; and biting, cynical Lydia and sees one thing: a group of horridly traumatized teenagers who are just barely dealing with their lives. Teenagers who realize that any moment could be their last.

 

It’s especially obvious during times like this; when Malia’s been kidnapped by a Xana and said Xana is hexing anyone who comes near. The pack had been trying to get her out for nearly an hour before calling Braeden.

 

When Braeden shows up, gun cocked and ready, Scott, Lydia, Kira, and Derek all have burns. Stiles is pale and shaking so badly that Scott has to hold on to him.

 

“P-please,” Stiles begs, and his voice shakes in a way that puts a pang in Braeden’s stomach.

 

Unable to deal with the emotions and feeling an almost irrational anger, Braeden charges towards the cave.

 

“Wait! I’ll come with you,” Derek cries out, rushing to her side.

 

Braeden gives him an evaluating stare and bites back a smirk. Derek’s obviously still healing and he looks exhausted. But he also looks scared for Braeden, as if he honestly cares about what happens to her. It’s almost unreal. Braeden shakes her head, tightens the grip on her gun, and keeps moving.

 

“You have enough injuries,” Braeden calls back. “I can handle this.”

 

Braeden stomps into the cave, jaw set, and hyper-vigilant. Even now, years after she started doing this, she repeats her father’s advice.

 

_Walk slowly, stay light on your feet. Check for hiding places and be prepared to change course_.

 

Eventually, Braeden arrives to this makeshift altar and throne, to which a sweaty and furious Malia is chained to. Malia, gagged, sees Braeden and starts to jerk and struggle. Before Braeden can run over and unchain her, the Xana appears from nowhere, gliding across the cave floor until she’s directly in front Malia.

 

“Let her go,” Braeden says firmly, in a level voice. She hears her father’s voice again.

 

_Be brave. Don’t be afraid when you find who you’re looking for. You’ve prepared for them_.

 

The Xana cackles and it makes Braeden’s skin crawl. Suddenly, a fiery pain shoots up Braeden’s arms and legs. She ends up kneeling on the ground and she looks up with a snarl. From behind her gag, Malia screams and growls, and she struggles against her bonds. Malia’s eyes flash blue and her chains rattle, but this only seems to amuse the Xana and she laughs again.

 

The Xana stands in front of Braeden with a wicked, sharpened grin.

 

“You’re beautiful,” the Xana says and Braeden’s starting to hate being called “beautiful.”

 

The Xana reaches down slowly, as if she’s going to pet Braeden’s head or some shit.

 

“I think I may keep you,” the Xana says in an awed voice.

 

“The hell you will!” Braeden growls and she grabs the Xana’s arm and squeezes.

 

The Xana snatches her arm back, her face contorted with rage. Braeden looks at the Xana’s arm and smirks at her. Bruises are rapidly appearing up the arm, dark and painful looking. The Xana gapes at her arm in horror, her white face ashen and nearly neon blue eyes wide.

 

The Xana stumbles back and Braeden takes her chance. She grabs her gun and shoots the Xana in the head. The Xana falls to the ground, dead.

 

Without wasting a second, Braeden jumps up and rushes over to Malia. She unchains her and takes the gag out of her mouth.

 

Malia gasps, taking deep gulps of air, and looks up at Braeden. Her face is a mixture of confusion and gratefulness.

 

“Are you alright?” Braeden asks slowly, stepping back to give Malia some space.

 

Malia stands up slowly and swallows. She nods jerkily and looks Braeden directly in her eyes. Braeden can tell that she’s not alright just yet, but she nods anyway. Feeling a rush of protectiveness, Braeden wraps her arms around Malia, and leads her out of the cave.

 

“Thanks,” Malia says breathlessly. Braeden tightens her grip on Malia and they keep moving.

 

In that moment, Braeden remembers something her mother told her years ago, around the time Braeden was 15 and just getting started with training. Braeden had been being a bit too reckless for her mother’s taste and would get all of the lectures. During one of them, Braeden’s mother said something that made Braeden suppress a snort.

 

“When you have kids, you’ll understand how it feels,” her mother had said and Braeden wanted to roll her eyes and snort (of course she didn’t. Braeden always knew when to quit while she was ahead) because Braeden could _never_ imagine having kids, or even feeling a protectiveness that could come close to what her mother felt for her.

 

But now here she is, 21 and without children, but feeling unreasonably protective of a group of teenagers and their extremely maladjusted twenty-something companion.

 

How exactly did this happen?

 

**

 

Two weeks later, Braeden’s sitting in Derek Hale’s car during a thunderstorm, trying to stare out of the window.

 

Derek and Peter have decided to join her on the mission to find Kate. Derek had caught up with her right as she was leaving the cave after the Xana debacle and told her that he wanted to help.

 

“You’re not getting any of your money back,” Braeden had warned.

 

“I don’t want any of it back,” he’d answered with surprising earnestness and just like that, they coming were with her.

 

They’re miles outside of Beacon Hills and Braeden told Peter that she wanted him _far_ from her—as far as he can physically from her. So now a very grumpy Peter is lurking somewhere in the woods, hopefully getting soaked.

 

They hear something fall over in the woods and Derek smirks.

 

“That Peter?” Braeden asks, biting the inside of her cheek.

 

“He just tripped over a downed branch,” Derek answers with satisfaction.

 

Braeden snorts and slides further into the passenger seat. Then she can’t help it anymore; she turns her head and stares over at Derek.

 

Because she knows Derek now. She knows his past, the long ago and much too recent. She knows why he’d rather make up reasons for not trusting her rather than actually trying to trust her and that makes sense to her. Braeden knows that’s it takes a lot for Derek to be able to sit next to her in his car during a thunderstorm. And knows how it feels to be angry, confused, hurt, and lost, all at the same time.

 

Braeden _gets_ Derek. Actually, he reminds her of herself.

 

Derek looks over to Braeden and fights back a smile.

 

“What’re you staring at?” he asks. He tries to keep his voice level and fails; it cracks. His eyes soften and his Adam’s apple moves as he swallows.

 

Braeden sighs deeply and shakes her head. She settles into the passenger seat and closes her eyes.

 

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

 

She can feel Derek staring at her for a few moments before he sighs, too, and shifts in his seat. A few long minutes of silence pass before Derek shifts in his seat again.

 

“Braeden? Can I ask you something?” his voice sounds different, much lighter and even a little bit younger.

 

“Shoot.”

 

“Why’d you become a mercenary? Why not be a hunter?”

 

An image of her father flashes before her eyes; she squeezes them tightly and grinds her teeth a little bit. Sometimes Braeden can’t hear the word “hunter” without thinking of her father and the sorry bastard that killed him. After a moment, she blinks and looks over to Derek. He looks at her with concerned curiosity and Braeden snorts.

 

“I actually _was_ planning on being a hunter when I was younger,” she answers. She thinks back to the day she’d told her father that she needed to start training and smiles sadly. “I had a change of career plans.”

 

“What happened?” Derek’s voice is soft and kind. It makes something inside of her want to curl up next to him to him and breathe deeply.

 

Braeden sees her father lying on the ground and she hears herself screaming.

 

“My father was killed by a hunter who decided that he didn’t want to watch my father's back anymore,” Braeden answers and she shrugs, but the gesture is a lie. “I changed my mind about being a hunter after that. Decided it was both smarter and easier to get paid to kill people. Plus I make more money that way.”

 

Braeden closes her eyes again and listens to the sound of raindrops hitting the car. Next to her, Derek is silent.

 

“I’m sorry,” Derek says after a moment, and it sounds so real.

 

Cautiously, Derek reaches out and very gently puts his hand on top of hers. The movement is more of a question than a statement, really.

 

Eyes still closed, Braeden smiles weakly and laces her fingers around Derek’s.

 

“Nothing to be sorry for,” she answers. “It’s what got me here, isn’t?”

 

Derek squeezes her hand tightly and Braeden takes a shaky breath and swallows back tears that she didn’t even realize were coming. Braeden thinks about the feeling of Derek’s hands on hers, the sound of the rain hitting the car, and the fact that somewhere, out in the woods, Peter Hale is tripping over branches and getting covered in mud.

 

She feels better.

 

**

 

Braeden is still 21 after she tracks down and ends up having to kill Kate Argent.

 

Her job had been to find Kate originally and Derek and Peter had paid her good money to do that. But after a 10 day chase involving lots of bloodshed and hard miles on the bike and Derek’s car, the reopening of physical, mental, and emotional wounds, and the “unfortunate” death of Peter Hale, it's over.

 

It all led up to this moment, where Braeden is sitting on Derek’s couch, getting her wounds tended to. Derek is surprisingly gentle, delicately dabbing at the claw marks on her stomach. Braeden’s not in any pain at all, really. In fact, she feels more at peace now than she has in nearly 5 years.

 

She looks down at Derek’s face and smiles. He leans closer to her, nostrils flared, eyes narrowed, and eyebrows furrowed with concentration. Derek’s acting like Braeden’s cuts are the most important thing in the world right now.

 

But best part of is that beneath all of that, he actually looks happy. Derek looks . . . well, _free_.

 

Something warm explodes inside of Braeden’s stomach and she grins. Braeden thinks of her mother and pictures the look she’d be giving her right now; it only makes her smile more.

 

When Derek’s done, he looks up at Braeden and looks surprised to see her smiling.

 

“Why so happy?” he asks sarcastically. He gives her a smirk and Braeden rolls her eyes. She knows that smirk well; it’s one she wears all the time.

 

“I got the job done,” Braeden answers with a happy shrug. “And you’re now rid of the object of your nightmares.”

 

Derek swallows and suppresses a smile. “You mean Kate?”

 

“No, I mean Peter.”

 

Derek blinks at her, and then sputters out a loud laugh. He ducks his head down and shakes it, smiling to himself the entire time. Then he looks back up at Braeden.

 

“Thank you,” Derek says with more sincerity than Braeden’s ever heard before. “Thank you so much.”

 

Braeden stands up and tries to ignore the giddy feeling in her chest (it doesn’t work, of course.) She dawdles towards the door and slings her jacket over her shoulder. She thinks of her father, and the silly, exaggerated “cool man” walk he used to do when he was feeling extra proud of himself.

 

“It’s my job,” Braeden calls back carelessly.

 

**

 

Braeden is two weeks from 22 when she ends up at a birthday party for a now 18 year old kitsune.

 

Kira invites Braeden with an awkward smile and nervous energy and Braeden will admit to being charmed into saying yes.

 

It’s a small affair. It’s just the pack in Kira’s living room, eating food, listening to music, and dancing. It actually reminds Braeden of a couple of her birthday parties: her sixteenth one, not long after her father was killed, when her boyfriend and best friend came over and told jokes and played silly music to make her and mother laugh. And her eighteenth, when her girlfriend commandeered her bedroom with a record player and her favorite cupcakes. They’d slow danced, frosting on their faces and fingers, and Braeden pretended that the night would never end.

 

Scott and Kira are slow dancing to a fast song right now. Lydia and Malia are “dancing” with Stiles (really, they’re dancing with each other, while Stiles fumbles around and makes silly, petulant remarks about them being show offs.) On the other side of the room, Derek’s laughing at Stiles.

 

Braeden leans up against the wall and watches them all. Malia slips out of Lydia’s grasp and makes her way over to Braeden.

 

“Don’t tell me you’re chickening out?” Braeden teases, watching the winded Malia with a smile.

 

“You try dancing with those two,” Malia answers, leaning up against the wall with Braeden. Malia then pulls a face and snarls in Braeden’s direction.

 

“What’s up?” Braeden asks, senses suddenly on high alert. She doesn’t feel any danger coming and none of the others have reacted.

 

Malia scrunches her nose up and leans a little closer. Then she sighs and rolls her eyes.

 

“You smell like Scott and Kira,” she answers, leaning her head against the wall.

 

“Well, I _am_ in Kira’s house. Plus I’ve been around them both all day anyway.”

 

“No, that’s not what I meant. I mean you smell like you’re _in love_. Like Scott and Kira do?”

 

Braeden’s heart starts to beat embarrassingly fast and she knows that there’s no hiding that from Malia. Malia smirks at her and slides closer.

 

“You know who else smells like that?”

 

“You and Stiles?”

 

Malia smiles dreamily, but shakes her head.

 

“Lydia, when she sees the outfit she put together for Kira?”

 

Malia snorts and pushes herself off of the wall. She shakes her head and starts to walk back over to Lydia. As she crosses the floor, Malia turns around and raises both eyebrows.

 

“ _Derek_ ,” she mouths very clearly. Malia smirks at Braeden, whips around, and starts to dance with Lydia and Stiles again.

 

**

 

Braeden is two days from 22 as she sits outside Derek Hale’s loft.

 

Braeden’s mother was and probably still is a true romantic. She loved all the cheesy rom-coms that Braeden always hated and she would blush and giggle whenever Braeden’s father brought her flowers or chocolates. When Braeden was fifteen and dating her first boyfriend, her mother was more excited for the dates than Braeden was. When Braeden told her parents that she was bisexual later on that same year, her mother given this incredibly _long_ lecture about how love was boundless and that Braeden’s love for women was always _just as legitimate_ as her love for men and that they’d both be supportive of her romantic relationships as long as they were consensual and healthy. Braeden was feeling pretty relieved until her mother proceeded to become excited about all the “ _adoorrable_ , oh so adorable!” dates she could plan for Braeden and her girlfriend. At that point, Braeden promptly became incredibly embarrassed.

 

If her mother saw her waiting for Derek right now, she’d probably cheer while Braeden blushed and slid to the ground. Her father would stand by and nod, smiling sagely and offering Braeden some undoubtedly embarrassing advice.

 

Derek’s car pulls up and Braeden stands up. Usually, she’d try for casual; she’d stretch, put a bored look on her face, and just stand there. But there’s no point in doing that right now. Braeden can’t pretend with Derek; she couldn’t even if she wanted to.

 

Derek jumps out of his car when he sees her and Braeden can’t help but laugh. Because Derek can try for smooth and careless all he wants to, but he’s just like her; he’s secretly a marshmallow.

 

Braeden’s never met anyone just like her before.

 

“What’s wrong? Is something wrong?” Derek asks. His body tenses and his nostrils flare as he tries to catch the scent of whatever is near.

 

Finally, he catches whatever scent Braeden is giving off (Malia would probably tell it’s that “lovey-dovey smell” again) and his eyes widen and his lips part, showing off his little bunny teeth.

 

“Oh,” he says and his face looks like it’s trying to fight the happiness.

 

Braeden rolls her eyes, takes a breath, and puts a finger to Derek’s lips.

 

“Calm down,” Braeden says clearly, “and just kiss me.”

 

Derek blinks at her twice, then he grins widely, and he literally sweeps her off of her feet.

 

In the back of Braeden’s mind, she hears her mother’s laugh and her father’s snort. She smells olive oil, old leather, and traces of something sweet and lovey-dovey.

 

**

 

Braeden is 22 today and she’s spending it with her werewolf boyfriend and a pack of misfit supernatural teenagers in a loft apartment.

 

As soon they enter, Scott and Malia sniff the air. Scott beams happily and Malia smirks at her.

 

“Oh, shut it,” Braeden says before either of them can say anything. Derek just rolls his eyes and pulls her closer.

 

They eat cake and get frosting on their faces and fingers like little kids. They play records that Derek bought her on a record player that Lydia got for her and talk about any and everything.

 

It feels right.

 

Half way through the party, Derek leaves the loft and returns with a puzzled look and a package in his hand.

 

“Um, Brae, someone sent you something,” he says and everyone’s on high alert.

 

Gingerly, he hands the package to Braeden and she very carefully examines it. When she reads the return label, she busts out laughing. The pack stares at her and leans over her shoulder to read the label.

 

“Who’s ‘Brandi Johnson?’” Malia asks.

 

Braeden smiles, swallows back tears, and rubs the package lovingly.

 

“My mother,” she answers with pride.

 

Derek looks up at her and smiles slowly. Braeden bites her lip and leans against his shoulder. Something clicks inside of Braeden, like she’s put the last piece to a complicated puzzle on. She feels whole.

 

“I’m sorry, your _mother?_ But . . .  how . . . how’d your mother . . .?” Stiles begins to ask, frantically looking around the loft. “ _Huh_?”

 

Braeden laughs and rolls her eyes. Then she hugs the package close and smiles up at the pack.

 

“She always knows.”


End file.
